


Will you have changed (I still feel the same)

by givebackmylifecas



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Berlin lives, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Canon, Surprise Bitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24514876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: Martín’s entire world collapses and rebuilds itself in the space of a few seconds. Standing in front of him, in black tactical gear and looking entirely alive, is Andrés.Lisbon isn't the only one who is rescued with Plan Paris - Post Season 4 AU where Berlin survived and was secretly imprisoned until Sergio managed to break him and Lisbon out and to the bank at the same time
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Helsinki | Mirko Dragic & Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 25
Kudos: 209





	Will you have changed (I still feel the same)

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back with more angst! As always I swear this has a happy ending so don't kill me (looking at you klembek)
> 
> TWs are in the tags but just to summarise: referenced self-harm and a past suicide attempt, reference to canonical character deaths, and some swearing
> 
> fic title from the goldfinger song "Here in your bedroom" because I'm still stuck in the nineties

There’s smoke everywhere so even without all the damage that son-of-a-bitch Gandia inflicted on his eyes, Martín wouldn’t be able to see much. He takes over from Tokyo, gun pressed to Gandia’s head as the others dart about out on the roof and she takes care of the police snipers.

He can hear the helicopter’s blades as it approaches, and the blanks that are being fired. He holds his breath, afraid of everything that could go wrong. He fucked up, he knows that. Nairobi’s blood is on his hands, but he won’t let Lisbon’s be too. Won’t let Sergio lose another person he loves.

Gandia throws his head back, hitting Martín on the nose and he falls back, Helsinki catching him before he can go too far. His nose smarts and his eyes water as Bogota quickly gets Gandia back under control.

He hears more fake gunfire and the helicopter retreating. His stomach ties itself into knots as they wait. He watches as Bogota beats the shit out of Gandia. Martín knows what Nairobi meant to his friend and he won’t stop him from getting a small piece of satisfaction.

Stockholm and Rio run back in, but they’re followed by three people in black. It’s too many, Denver was posing as Gandia, but he’s already pulled off his hood. Beside him, Lisbon is doing the same and Martín is nearly floored by the wave of relief he feels at seeing her alive and well. But there’s still that other person and he knows he’s not the only one who smells a rat when Tokyo levels her gun at the newcomer.

Martín does the same. “Who are you?”

Lisbon’s elated smile slides off her face. “Palermo, Tokyo, it’s okay.”

“Who is that?” Tokyo yells. “Take your hood off.”

The person does and Martín’s entire world collapses and rebuilds itself in the space of a few seconds. Standing in front of him, in black tactical gear and looking entirely alive, is Andrés.

“Berlin?” he hears someone gasp and Martín is glad that Helsinki is still holding his elbow because he isn’t sure he wouldn’t collapse otherwise.

His eyesight is still shit, it’s blurry and there are black spots but he knows it’s real, knows he could never have imagined something like this. Bogota moves first, pulling Andrés into a hug and the others join in, yelling over each other in excitement.

And then everyone is parting and Andrés is moving towards him and Martín just… can’t. He can’t do this. Not now, not ever, not in front of all these people who hate him for what he did to Nairobi.

Andrés reaches a hand towards him, that familiar smirk on his face although he looks thinner, more tired than the last time Martín saw him. The last time… when Andrés kissed him and then ripped his heart out with his bare hands.

So Martín does what he’s done best since he was a child and had to dodge the older boys who knew what he was before he knew himself. He runs.

He stumbles away from the others, nearly tripping over Gandia’s prone body that they’d just left on the ground, and half throws himself down the stairs.

Someone calls his name. Maybe Helsinki or Stockholm, he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. He just keeps running, as far as he can go until he’s in one of the bathrooms on the ground floor. He collapses in one of the stalls, head between his knees, helpless against the tears that are cascading down his face.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening, how Andrés could possibly be here, alive and in the bank with him. He died in the mint. Every newspaper in the world splashed the picture of him in his red jumpsuit, riddled with bullet holes on their front page. That image had haunted him for months.

And Helsinki. Helsinki had told him when he asked, voice heavy with pity and sadness, about how Andrés had sacrificed himself for them. How he’d been selfish and cruel in the bank until it was time for them to go and then he’d done the only good thing Helsinki ever saw him do. The other man had been confused, said he didn’t understand it, didn’t understand how Andrés – Berlin as he had known him – could have been so brave.

But Martín did. He’d always known Andrés was full of contradictions. Cruel and calculating yes, but also brave and reckless and romantic. It’s why he had loved him so much. Andrés had never hidden anything from him and Martín had been pathetically grateful to have been allowed to have known him.

God, he was ridiculous. He’d spent five years trying to drink himself into an early grave because the man he loved with every fibre of his miserable, lonely being had left him and then died and now it turned out he’d been alive this whole time.

He half-chokes on another sob, wiping the tears with the sleeve of his jumpsuit, when he hears footsteps entering the bathroom. They get closer and closer and then Helsinki is stood over him, massive body blocking out most of the light. He doesn’t say anything, just sits down on the ground next to Martín, one arm coming around his shoulder and pulling him close.

Martín hates himself for it, but he turns his head into Helsinki’s chest and keeps crying.

“Shh,” Helsinki tells him. “Calm down. It’s okay, Palermo. It’s okay.”

Martín just cries harder and Helsinki wraps both arms around him, pulling him into a proper hug. It’s been weeks since he’s cried like this, not since the night he slept with Helsinki and then kicked him out after.

“I don’t understand,” Martín chokes out as Helsinki strokes his back. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Well,” Helsinki says quietly. “Lisbon said that she didn’t know either until she got on the helicopter and Berlin was there with Marseille. We spoke to the Professor and he said they got a tip from someone – I don’t know who – that there was someone else related to the heist being interrogated at the same time as Lisbon. The guys in Pakistan hacked the cameras and found Berlin. So the Professor got him out just before Lisbon, but in different cars and then they arrived at the helipad at nearly the same time.”

Martín’s sobs quiet a little. “But how? How is he alive?”

“Berlin said he was shot, but they put him back together again. Thought he’d tell them where we’d all gone. When he didn’t they decided to keep him. He thinks he’d have stayed in prison forever if they hadn’t needed him to help with this heist.”

“So, he’s really here?” Martín asks, pulling away a little.

Helsinki nods. “Yes. He’s really alive and here. Do you want to see him?”

“No!” Martín shakes his head. “Absolutely not. He can’t – I don’t want him to… see me like this.”

“Why not?”

“Because… because this is exactly how I looked when we last saw each other. And I know everyone else here knows how awful I am, but he doesn’t need to. Not anymore than he already does.”

Helsinki frowns. “You aren’t awful, Palermo.”

“Aren’t I?” Martín asks, a bitter smile on his lips. “You heard what Nairobi said. She was right you know? I never did tell him.”

“I’m sure he knew,” Helsinki says, his eyes wet at the mention of Nairobi’s name.

“He did. He did, that’s what makes me so pathetic. Because the last time we saw each other, it was before he left to set up the mint heist with you guys,” Martín says, his voice almost a whisper as he relives the worst night of his life. “And he told me. He told me he knew that I loved him. And he told me we were soulmates and then he kissed me and then he told me what I wanted was impossible and he left. He left and he fucking – he fucking hollowed me out and broke me.”

Helsinki doesn’t say anything just hands Martín some toilet paper that he uses to wipe away more tears. “And I just let him. I let him ruin me like I let him do everything else he ever wanted to,” Martín finishes, dissolving into sobs again.

Helsinki hugs him again, one hand a comforting weight at the back of Martín’s neck. “None of that makes you pathetic, Palermo. It just means you were hurt.”

“Oh yeah?” Martín asks almost angrily. He tears himself from Helsinki’s embrace and rolls up the sleeves of his jumpsuit. He brandishes his wrists, each mutilated with a long white scar, in the other man’s face. “Then what do you call this? What do you call it, if not pathetic?”

“I’ve seen them before,” Helsinki says which startles Martín out of the rage that was building inside him. “We slept together, remember? I’ve seen the other ones too, the ones on your legs. And I call it brave. Brave that you’re still here,” he says resolutely.

Martín stares at him, speechless for a moment. “You’re a really good person, Mirko,” he says eventually and Helsinki flushes at the use of his first name, but smiles. “And I wouldn’t deserve you in a hundred lives, but I’m glad we’re friends.”

They hug again and it’s slightly less damp than before.

“You should speak to him,” Helsinki says. “He wants to talk to you.”

Martín sighs. “Does he? Then why isn’t he here?”

“Oh, I um… I told him not to. Was that okay?” Helsinki asks, looking hesitant for the first time.

Martín nods. “Yes, yes it was. Thank you.”

Helsinki smiles. “So what now?”

He puffs out his cheeks, slowly letting out a breath as he thinks. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll go down to the forge, make sure everything is going smoothly.”

“You’re not going to speak to Berlin?”

Martín shakes his head. “Not yet. Where is he? He’s not outside, is he?”

“No, I think he’s in the library with Lisbon and Tokyo, talking to the Professor.”

“Of course. No need for me now that they’re both here,” he says and Helsinki’s face falls.

He reaches out, patting Martín’s shoulder. “You know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it though? I know I fucked up, more than fucked up with Gandia. But Tokyo kicked me out before I did that. The Professor only had you guys unchain me because he needed me to help get Lisbon – and apparently Andrés – in here,” he sighs and scrubs his hands across his face. “Maybe you should have just let me walk out. The police would probably have shot me on sight, and then Nairobi would still be alive and everything else would be exactly as it is now.” He gets to his feet, ignoring Helsinki’s protests.

He crosses to the sink and washes his face with cold water, trying to make himself look like he hadn’t just been crying on the floor of a bathroom. When he looks up, drying his face with paper towels, Helsinki is staring at him, the pain Martín saw earlier back in his eyes.

“I said I’d get you out of here, Martín Berrote. I don’t break my promises.”

Martín nods at him. “Neither do I. You should go check on the hostages, I’ll be in the forge if you need me.”

“Palermo,” Helsinki calls after him as he makes to leave.

He turns, forcing a smile onto his face and he hates himself because he’s back to hiding again like he did when Andrés was in his life. “It’s okay Helsinki, I’m fine. Let’s just finish the heist so we can get the fuck out of here.”

Helsinki nods and Martín leaves him, heading for the lift that will take him to where they’re still melting the gold.

Only Bogota and Stockholm are there with the other workers and thankfully neither of them say anything, they just let Martín work. His eyesight isn’t great with the burning bright of the melting metal and the poor job the fluorescent lights are doing at breaking up the darkness in the rest of the area, but he can see well enough to make some small adjustments. He talks to the other engineers, grateful to discuss something that isn’t the overall plan, or Andrés, or every goddamn mistake he’s ever made.

It’s sweltering down there and even though he follows Stockholm’s example and peels out of the top half of his jumpsuit which he ties at his waist, he finds himself in need of a break eventually.

“I’m going to get water,” he tells her and she nods, pushing her sweaty hair back from her face.

“I’ll come with you. Bogotá, are you okay alone down here?” Stockholm asks and the other man nods.

“I’ll be fine, you guys go take a break.”

They take the lift up and Martín leans against one wall, feeling more fatigued than he has any right to be. Stockholm keeps looking at him like she wants to say something, but thankfully she doesn’t.

The hostages are back in the lobby, being guarded by Denver, Helsinki, and Tokyo, and Martín does his best to ignore how some of them are looking at him, as if wondering why he’s not tied up with them anymore.

He’s almost at the office where they’re keeping the food and water when Tokyo calls his name. He turns and sees her striding towards him.

“What do you want, Tokyo?”

She holds her hands up. “Easy, Palermo. I’m supposed to tell you to go to the library. The Professor wants to speak to you.”

Martín shrugs. “I don’t see why he needs to. I’m not in charge of anything anymore, Lisbon is here like he wanted, and I need to go back to the forge.” He goes into the office and grabs a sandwich and a bottle of water.

“Are you kidding?” she asks when he re-enters the lobby. “You’re still pissed because I took control from you and wouldn’t let you blow up the lobby and get yourself shot?”

He shrugs, opening his water and she scowls. “God, Palermo, you’re pathetic. Get over yourself.”

Martín tries not to flinch as she yells at him, doing his best to keep his face impassive.

“Tokyo,” Helsinki warns from across the room. “Leave him alone.”

She turns. “Or what? What’s he going to do? Collaborate with another hostage and get one of us killed? Try and walk out of here with a suitcase full of muffins again?”

“Tokyo, that’s enough!” It’s Denver who steps forward this time.

Martín’s entire body is shaking and he is a moment away from running again. If he’s fast he can make it to the button for the doors and out before he’s shot in the back by one of the others.

“Palermo, it’s okay,” Helsinki says and Martín nods, giving him a tight smile.

“Sure it is. It’s fine. I’m going downstairs.”

Tokyo steps in front of him, blocking him from walking any further. “No, you need to go speak to the Professor. Jesus, I thought you’d be ecstatic now that your boyfriend is back from the dead.”

Martín feels like his heart has dropped to the bottom of his spine. Tokyo wasn’t there when he and Nairobi had their argument – surely none of the others would have told her. Helsinki definitely wouldn’t have.

“Tokyo, stop it!” Stockholm yells. “Palermo, just go speak to the Professor. We can handle the forge without you for a while.”

Martín stares at his feet, his body suddenly feeling the lack of sleep and food, all the hours he spent chained to a chair, all the guilt and grief that he’d been suppressing. “Fine, fine I’ll go,” he says, just as Lisbon appears.

“Palermo?” she asks. “I was just coming to find you. The Professor has been asking for you.”

He nods, turning away from Tokyo and Stockholm to follow Lisbon through to the library. The room is empty when they get there, except for the radio sitting on the table in the middle of the room. Lisbon takes a seat near the door, effectively preventing him from leaving.

He sighs and picks up the radio’s receiver.

“Professor? It’s Palermo here.”

There’s a brief moment of silence and then Sergio’s voice is crackling over the speakers. “Palermo, how are you?”

“Fine. Why did you want to speak to me?”

Even through the static, Martín can hear Sergio sigh. “I wanted to apologise for not telling you about Berlin sooner. I didn’t want to get your hopes up just in case things went wrong.”

Martín clenches his jaw, but nods anyway, before realising that Sergio can’t see him. “It’s fine, I’m glad we managed to save Lisbon… and Berlin.” His treacherous heart stutters when he says Andrés’ code name. “It’s good that you have your family back.”

“So do you,” Sergio insists and Martín lets out a harsh breath.

“I don’t have a family anymore, Professor.”

“Mar- Palermo,” Sergio starts, but Martín cuts him off.

“Is there anything else you wanted? Because if not I’m going back to the forge. You can have someone get me when it’s time to leave this hell hole.”

“This is your plan, you’re still in charge.”

Martín actually laughs at that. “Don’t kid yourself, I was never in charge. You were trying to make me think I was, to keep me under control. I’m not stupid you know, it’s why you - ” He has to take a moment to take some calming breaths. “That’s what you were afraid of the first time, why you wanted Andrés to leave me out of the plan. So don’t fucking lie to me, Professor. I’m wasn’t in charge then, and I’m certainly not in charge now that you have your brother back.”

He drops the receiver, ignoring whatever it is Sergio is saying. Lisbon calls out for him as he storms past her, but he doesn’t even acknowledge her. She doesn’t follow, probably speaking to Sergio, so he doesn’t go very far, just around the next corner where he sinks onto the floor.

He presses his face to his knees, breathing hard through his nose in an effort to stop himself from crying.

He hears footsteps and looks up to see Lisbon sliding down the wall until she’s crouched next to him. He nods at her and she smiles.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he tells her sincerely.

“Thank you,” she says, tying up her long hair. “How have things been here?”

“Pah, like you haven’t already heard.”

She grimaces. “Tokyo was vocal. Helsinki took your side though, for what it’s worth. So did Denver… sort of.”

He leans his head back against the wall. “Well that’s two more than I expected.”

“Why haven’t you talked to Berlin?”

“Does it matter?” he shrugs. After a moment, something occurs to him. “Wait, had you ever met him? Apart from on the helicopter, I mean.”

Lisbon gives an approximation of a laugh. “I had actually. I spent a couple of hours with him during the first heist. I had to go in to do a proof of life check and he was… quite something.”

“You mean he was an asshole?” Martín asks and Lisbon laughs properly this time.

“Yeah he was.” She takes a moment, hesitating before speaking. “You know, when Sergio first recruited you he told me some things.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” If Martín weren’t so damn tired he’d be worried about what Sergio told Lisbon.

“Well, he said that you were a close friend of his brother's and that you two first told him of the plan together, but it was postponed because Berlin went to help Sergio in the mint.”

“Is that all?”

She shakes her head. “No. He also said that you were in love with Berlin.”

Martín groans, running frustrated fingers through his hair. “Jesus fucking Christ. Is there anyone who doesn’t know?”

“Berlin?” Lisbon asks and she says it like a joke, even though it’s the furthest thing from it.

He shakes his head. “Oh no, he knew too. Sergio is the one who told him.”

“What?” Lisbon asks.

“Oh I’m sorry, did he not tell you that bit? How he was the one who told Andrés that I loved him, because he thought I was too unstable. So Andrés told me he knew and that I needed to move on and then he left,” Martín tells her. It’s only part of the truth and he knows he told Helsinki much more, but he barely knows Lisbon and he doesn’t think she’ll understand in the same way Helsinki did.

“Fuck, that’s…” Lisbon trails off.

“That’s not the whole story,” a voice says from the other end of the hall and they both turn to see Andrés, dressed in a red jumpsuit, walking towards them.

“Berlin,” Lisbon nods at him, her eyes darting between Andrés and Martín.

Andrés smiles at her, all charm. “Lisbon, would you be able to give us a moment?” he asks and she nods.

“I’ll go check in with Sergio,” she says, disappearing back into the library, but not before casting Martín a worried look.

Martín doesn’t bother to get up. Andrés can talk while standing or sit on the floor if it bothers him. He hears Andrés sigh and he resolutely keeps staring at the floor. There’s movement and then Andrés is cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

“Hello, Martín.”

Martín looks at him, annoyed at how his brain immediately starts cataloguing the dark bags under his eyes, the new wrinkles, the grey hair at his temples. “Andrés,” he says and he hates that his voice shakes just from saying his name.

Andrés smiles, lopsided, one corner of his mouth moving up faster than the other. “You look like, shit. What happened to your face?”

Martín scowls. “Like you’re one to talk. If you must know, it was Gandia. He shot out some glass and I got all the shards in my face. Can’t see for shit now.”

“I told Sergio that Gandia should be killed,” Andrés says casually, as if discussing a shopping list.

“I told him that too, but your brother doesn’t like violence.”

Andrés snorts. “You’d think he’d have learned after last time.”

The small amount of familiarity that Martín had felt at laughing about Sergio with Andrés slides away at the mention of the other heist.

“Yes, well,” Martín says quietly. “It seems even killing people doesn’t work nowadays. We thought both you and Lisbon were dead and yet here you are.”

“Here I am,” Andrés repeats quietly. “I spend a year in hospital, a year in prison and now I’m locked in another fucking federal building.”

Martín looks at his friend who for the first time since he’s known him actually looks his age. A bit tired and washed out. “It’s alright, you’ll all be out soon and then you and your brother will be reunited.”

“You all?” Andrés asks and Martín shivers under the full force of his gaze.

He shrugs and tries to pull on the top half of his jumpsuit, finally cooling down. “You know, the gang… everyone.”

“But not you?”

Martín struggles with his second sleeve. “Of course I will be. I’m not the self-sacrificing type,” he says pointedly.

Andrés, seemingly tired of watching him fight with a piece of clothing, leans forward and grabs the offending sleeve with one hand, the other trying to guide Martín’s arm into it. Suddenly he stops, his grip tightening on Martín’s wrist and jerks his whole arm forward, twisting so the inside of Martín's wrist is facing upwards. His other hand runs long fingers up the scar and Martín thinks he might throw up. He jerks backwards, but Andrés holds fast.

For a long moment that seems to stretch on for eons, they just stare at each other in silence. Finally, Andrés speaks, his voice restrained – probably holding back the revulsion Martín knows he must feel. “Oh Martín,” he says. “What have you done to yourself, querido?”

“I,” Martín starts, but he doesn’t know what to say, so he just doesn’t continue.

Andrés studies his face, as if searching for something. “When?” he asks.

“You know when,” Martín says, his face burning with shame.

“I thought you only… I thought you just did it on your legs,” Andrés says and when Martín just shakes his head, he strokes along the scar again. “I was going to come back, you know? I said to myself when I left, that if I survived then I was going to go find you.”

“Clearly you didn’t want to,” Martín says, grabbing Andrés’ hand and pulling it away from his wrist. “Helsinki told me what happened, how you wanted to stay behind.”

“I stayed behind, because I was dying anyway. If I’d gone back to you, I would have been a dead man walking, returning for only a few months,” Andrés responds sharply.

Martín stares at him as he turns over the words until something clicks. “Your mother’s disease,” he whispers and Andrés nods. “But now? You’re still alive.”

Andrés laughs harshly. “You can thank the Spanish government for that. They wanted me alive enough to interrogate so badly that they pumped me full of all sorts of experimental treatments. One of which, apparently, worked.”

Martín tries to process that. “So now… you’re cured. You’re not dying anymore?”

“No more than anyone else,” Andrés says wryly. He sighs then takes Martín’s hand again. “You ran. Earlier, when I arrived, you ran away. I thought you’d be happy I’m not dead.”

“Of course I am!” Martín says a little too loudly, his voice echoing through the hallway. “Of course I’m glad you’re not dead. I was just… I was overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?”

“Yes! These past few days haven’t exactly been a cake walk. Not to mention the last five years. And the last time I saw you… Andrés, the last time I saw you, you broke my heart and left without looking back,” Martín says, angrily brushing away the tears that have spilled over.

His hands ache and he’s got a jittery feeling like when he drinks too much coffee. He wants Andrés to leave. He wants him to stay. He wants him to walk away and disappear so that Martín can pretend he never returned. He wants Andrés to pull him into his arms and never let go. He just wants the constant pressure in his chest to go away.

“I’m sorry,” Andrés says and Martín thinks it might be the first time he’s ever heard him apologise. “I want to say I didn’t know what I was doing, but…”

“But you did,” Martín finishes for him.

Andrés nods. “I meant it though, I wanted to come back. The minute I left I wanted to turn around and pretend I never said any of it.”

“I understand,” Martín says, looking down at where there hands are still entwined. “It was all a lie to make sure I let you go.”

“Yes,” Andrés says, then frowns. “No, not all of it.”

Martín looks up at him through his lashes. His heart is beating so fast he’s sure Andrés must be able to hear it and his mouth suddenly feels dry. “Which, um. Which parts did you mean then?”

“I meant it when I said I loved you,” Andrés says and Martín feels like all the air has been punched out of his chest. “And when I said we were soulmates. And when we kissed.” He looks at Martín, eyes dark and sincere, nowhere near as dramatic and feverish as whenever he professed to have found the next woman to be the love of his life. “It’s the only part I didn’t expect, you know?” He says it quietly, like a confession. “I didn’t think you were brave enough to kiss me.”

Martín snorts but Andrés shakes his head. “I’m serious, Martín. You told me then that I’m a coward and you were right. I just made the mistake of thinking you were one too.”

Andrés squeezes his hands and Martín squeezes back, almost reflexively. “So what now?” he asks and Andrés looks unsure.

“I don’t know. My affections for you haven’t changed, you wouldn’t be my soulmate if they did. I understand if yours have though. It’s been years,” Andrés says.

Martín is almost ninety percent sure he’s died, because Andrés has never been this nice to him. But if it’s real, he’s not missing out on a second of it. “So you’d be okay if I’d moved on then?” he asks. “If I told you I didn’t love you anymore, you would accept that?”

Andrés' jaw clenches and he looks as if he’s been force-fed bad oysters when he says: “Yes. I’d be okay with that.”

“Liar,” Martín says and Andrés scowls.

“I’m not-“ Andrés begins, but Martín grabs him by the lapels of his jumpsuit and pulls him in for a kiss.

Andrés responds immediately, kissing him like he’s never wanted to do anything more. It’s better than their first one in the chapel. Martín is sober for one thing and for another, he doesn’t have an impending sense of doom hanging over him. Andrés grips his waist and Martín’s hands bury themselves in his hair in retaliation.

Martín pulls away and tugs on a handful, just shy of too painful. “Andrés, if you ever try to leave me again, no matter the reason, I will kill you.”

Andrés grins, looking years younger. “I accept that. But I won’t. Never again.”

“Promise?” Martín asks, unable to keep the uncertainty from his voice.

Andrés nods. “I promise,” he says and then he’s kissing Martín just as fiercely as he did in the chapel. Andrés shifts up onto his knees, one hand on the small of Martín’s back, the other at the base of his neck, pushing until Martín is sprawled on his back and Andrés is hovering over him, knees on either side of Martín’s waist.

Martín entwines a leg with Andrés’ who laughs against his lips. “You realise we’re in the middle of the hallway?” Andrés asks.

Martín smiles and it feels like centuries since he’s smiled like that. “You can move if you want to.”

“Absolutely not,” Andrés says, nipping at his bottom lip.

Martín moans, tugging him closer, needing to feel every part of him, surround himself with his scent which somehow smells the same.

He startles when he hears someone clear their throat. Andrés pulls back and Martín looks over his shoulder to see Lisbon standing behind him, arms crossed.

“I came to see if you’d killed each other, but clearly I needn’t have worried,” she says, a glimmer of humour in her eyes. “I do however, feel like I should remind you both that we’re in the middle of a heist and there’s still a lot of work to be done.”

Martín flushes. “Yes, you're right.”

Lisbon rolls her eyes, but turns and walks back to the library. “You have five minutes, then you can both go help look after the hostages.”

Martín groans as she leaves and Andrés grins wickedly at him. “I can do a lot in five minutes,” he says and Martín scowls.

“I’m not having a quickie with you on the floor of a bank,” he says resolutely and Andrés frowns.

“Why not?”

“I honestly don’t think I should have to explain that to you.”

Andrés sighs and presses a kiss to Martín’s neck. “Fine. But the minute we’re out of here…” he trails off and Martín shivers, making him laugh.

“Okay you have to stop that, plenty of time later, right?”

“Yes,” Andrés says quietly, a contented smile that Martín has only rarely seen on his face. “Later.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked this (sort of? maybe?). If you did (or even if you didn't) feel free to leave a comment or some kudos or say hi/hurl abuse at me on tumblr [@hefellfordean](https://hefellfordean.tumblr.com)


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